


Making Marks

by macwritesthings



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: Biting, Bondage, Come Marking, Come Sharing, Established Relationship, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Riding Crops, Rimming, Rope Bondage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-05
Packaged: 2019-06-05 12:51:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15171143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macwritesthings/pseuds/macwritesthings
Summary: Armie likes marking Timmy up, and Timmy likes taking it.





	Making Marks

**Author's Note:**

> I have literally no excuse for this and it's for the Riding Crop Challenge, and wow I'm only like 10% sorry for this. Maybe 20%. 
> 
> This is dedicated to ummm every single person who encouraged me to write this tbh I don't know all of your AO3 names so I can't gift it to all of you but please know this is all your fault and I love you all.
> 
> ALSO I WROTE A STANDALONE UNIVERSE THING CAN YOU BELIEVE????
> 
> This is also totally unedited, so any mistakes are my own.

Timmy is beautiful like this, ropes stark and black around his shoulders, spreading down his arms, wrists taut underneath the dragonfly sleeve he’s been pulled back into, back impossibly curved from the tension. He’s facedown on the bed, face pressed into the pillows, and his breath is catching in little hiccups, not quite gasps, but not full breaths, either, these tiny broken-off sounds every time Armie’s tongue comes into contact with his skin--biting over the curve of his ass or fingers spreading him wide and licking into him, making those hiccups turn into moans, his fingers twisting together in his binds, hips shifting restlessly.

It’s not as though he’s got much leverage, though, those gorgeous legs tied as well, calves to thighs, balancing on his shoulders and knees, cock dripping onto the sheets every time there’s a new sensation, and Armie sinks his teeth over one of the twists of rope, feels Timmy’s skin catch between his teeth and the rope, the shudder that runs through his boy when he does, the barely-coherent _please_ that comes out from under hooded eyes and sweat-soaked curls. He curls his tongue under the rope, pleased when Timmy whimpers and he can taste the sweat soaking into the rope, coating Timmy’s skin, and he pulls back, brushing his fingers over the indentation of his teeth. He likes marking Timmy up, likes seeing evidence he was there, and he knows it’s dumb, they’ve been together long enough that he feels like this need should have abated, but every time they’re like _this_ , Timmy begging and Armie giving him the release he needs, he marks his boy up. He likes watching Timmy twist and study himself in the mirror the next day, fingers ghosting over the marks, smiling at the reminder that they belong to each other.

He pulls back, settling one hand between Timmy’s shoulders and rubs, soothing. “How you doing, baby?” he asks, and Timmy shifts, blinks from under his hair, and Armie watches his fingers shift, one hand closing to a fist, the other holding out two fingers. It’s a signal, a safeword when Timmy doesn’t want to--or can’t--talk, letting Armie know he’s good, he’s fine, they’re good to continue, and Armie brushes Timmy’s hair out of his face, leans over him and lets his cock drag along Timmy’s ass as he kisses his forehead, delighting in the shuddering gasp the sensation gets him.

He leans back, looking Timmy over. He’s going to be marked up from the ropes, red lines in his arms and indentations that will fade quickly, and Armie wants something more permanent, something that’ll prove he was there, give Timmy something to look at. So he reaches down the side of the bed, grabbing the crop laying there, supple in soft brown leather, trails the end down Timmy’s spine and listens to him whimper, hips shifting down against the bed in search of friction, and Armie lets him--he didn’t say Timmy couldn’t, after all. 

He traces the outline of Timmy’s ass with the crop, drags it between his cheeks to barely brush over his hole where he’s stretched from Armie’s fingers and tongue, and Timmy jerks, face pressing into the pillow, sound muffled. Armie smiles, and without warning, brings the crop down on the curve of Timmy’s ass, delighting in the cry of his name, the way Timmy’s teeth catch the pillowcase, looking for something to ground him, the way his hips jerk back into the crop, the sting of it. Armie waits, as hard as it is, until Timmy starts wriggling, making whiny, needy noises in the back of his throat, and then he brings it down again, the dimples at the base of Timmy’s spine, the underside where his thighs meet the perfect globe of his ass, shifting to crack the crop against both cheeks at once, and finally, when Timmy’s ass is red, hot when he runs his fingers over it, he spreads Timmy’s legs as wide as the ropes will allow and smacks him once, twice, three times over his hole, directly over that most vulnerable spot, and Timmy cries out between the pillowcase gripped in his teeth, and comes, spurts shooting over his stomach and over the sheets, and Armie takes himself in hand, barely needing to stroke before he’s coming, too, marking up Timmy’s ass more, rubbing his fingers through his own come and studying them before touching them to Timmy’s mouth, humming when they slide in without resistance, Timmy sucking the taste of Armie off his fingers, tongue sliding around the digits in a silent thank you.

**Author's Note:**

> come cry with me at sweetteatimmychalamet on tumblr.


End file.
